


This Is Our Song

by clueingforbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Big Band is key, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is a sassy punk, Bucky loves to dance, But he'll do anything if Bucky asks, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mention of Minor Character Death, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, So does Steve, So is Steve, Steve and Bucky love music, slight angst, steve not so much, they are a gift, they are bros, they're perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clueingforbucky/pseuds/clueingforbucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Steve…”<br/>Silence.<br/>“Stevie,” he said a little louder.<br/>This time, pointed silence.<br/>“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky said through an amused huff, “This is our song.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>        Or the one where the only continuity in Steve and Bucky's life is music and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle and enjoy. Please note that I still blame Spotify radio for playing Dream a Little Dream of Me and forcing this headcanon upon me. I had to write it. I really had no choice.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Quite literally.
> 
> Also, thank you to my dear friend and manager, Chelsea. I cry, you cry, right?

                        _March 10 th/11th\- 1938_

Bucky was only vaguely aware that his focus wasn’t where it should have been, which was on the cute little number he had in his arms. He was too busy searching the room with growing concern. It wasn’t until the third glance around the crowded dance hall, with no sign of the familiar blonde head that he knew for sure that he had screwed up.

            “Sonofa-”                                                                                                                   

            “Bucky?"

            Looking down, he saw two warm brown eyes staring up into his, a perfectly penciled brow raised at him. It was obviously not the first time she had tried to get his attention. With that, he felt even worse.

            Forcing a cheeky grin onto his face, he said, “Yeah, Trish?”

            Much to his surprise, the girl sighed while maintaining their perfect step to the band, despite her obvious disinterest. She was looking up at him, her lips tugging down slightly into a frown. He stared at her back at her with a grimace. This was not the turn in the night he had expected or hoped for. She was a petite blonde bombshell and they had been having a great time, or so he thought.

            “You lookin’ for your friend,” she said more than asked, her head cocked at him.

            “Well, I just-” he looked over the room again.

            “He went out the front door about four songs ago,” she told him over the music. He looked back to see her watching him, carefully, “He wasn’t too keen on being here, was he? Seemed to be wantin’ to leave as soon as you two got here…”

            “He left?” Bucky didn’t mean to sound as hurt as he did, but he couldn’t stop the somewhat pained expression he felt pass over his face.

            Trish stared up at him through her thick lashes, almost sympathetically, pushing him away gently, “Go on.”

            He was frozen in place, eyes now strictly on her, though thoroughly perplexed, “What?”

            She rolled her eyes, this time almost amused. Shaking her head, she stretched up on the tip of her toes, kissing his cheek and saying pointedly, “Go find your friend.”

            Before he could think of anything to respond to that, she was sauntering away. He knew he was gaping after her as she turned back to say through a small, but genuine, smile, “Happy birthday, Bucky.”

            He found himself grinning stupidly back at her, “Thanks, Trish.”

            Without so much as a glance back, he was out the door, heading to Steve’s apartment.

 

            Ten minutes later, Bucky found himself standing outside the apartment unable to even open the front door. He gripped the bottle of whisky he had picked up along the way tightly in his sweaty palm. Steve’s mom would be working until the early hours of the morning so he wasn’t worried about disturbing her. No, he was worried about the look on Steve’s face he was likely to encounter. It would undoubtedly be his obstinately brave face; the one he wore when he would try to argue that nothing was wrong but something obviously was. And, in his hurry to the apartment, Bucky had come to a few unrelenting realizations that would surely prove that whatever he guessed Steve wanted to say to him was not unwarranted.

            Such as, he was an idiot. One of the reasons, if not the only reason, being that he hadn’t actually spent a good amount of time with Steve in weeks. Their interactions have been pretty standard over the past weeks; a greeting in the morning before work, an invitation to go out with him after, a no in response and a prompt goodnight. Since it was Bucky’s birthday, that conversation had changed only slightly. Instead of a no, he was given a yes to going out. But, with the realization that he had left after only a little over an hour of being there, Bucky cringed as it was suddenly evident to him that he was not being a good… friend.He had been too in his own head lately.

            He was, decidedly, the worst. Kicking away the rock hiding the spare key, he picked it up and took a deep, shaky breath as he slipped the key into the lock and turned it before pushing the door open. As soon as he stepped in, he knew he had to play it cool. Steve was sitting at the kitchen table, where he usually worked on his projects. He was hunched over his sketchbook, sparing a tiny glance up at Bucky as he shut the door with an audible ‘click’ behind him.

            Clenching his jaw, Bucky ignored the look and went straight to the kitchen. He didn’t waste another second in opening the bottle and bringing it to his lips, taking a hearty swig. This was going to be a tad more difficult than he had originally thought. As soon as he had walked through that door, he was stone-cold sober. And the silence that stretched on between them wasn’t doing anything for his nerves. So he took another sip.

           “Didn’t think I was gunna see you ‘till tomorrow.”

           Bucky sputtered at that; whisky coming up his nose, making his eyes water painfully. Wiping at his eyes with his sleeve and clearing his throat, he tried to keep his voice as steady as he could while saying, “Naw, I think I’d rather spend the rest of my birthday here with you and the King.”

           “Mm,” Steve grunted, half-heartedly.

           Mindlessly grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, he sauntered over to Steve and slid into the chair across from him, setting the glasses and bottle onto the table. He refused to look up, though Bucky could tell he wanted to. Deciding to take that as a good sign, he scooped up the bottle of King’s whisky and poured two fingers in each glass before sliding one to Steve, who caught it deftly. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a good sip, and set the glass down to get back to drawing.

            “You sure you wouldn’t rather be back at that bar with Trish?”

            “Who?” Bucky was watching Steve’s hand trace around the page and, as was usual when he was watching Steve draw, he got distracted to the point that he didn’t hear much that was going on around him. Even Steve’s voice.

            “Trish. The girl you were with,” Steve said, his voice almost breathless with exasperation.

            “Oh,” Bucky said, pulling his attention from the page, waving his hand, dismissively, “No, Trish had better things to do.”

            “Hmm.”

            He wasn’t listening. His disinterest was fully realized when, moments later, he grabbed his notebook and drink, moving to plop onto his spot on the sofa. Bucky stared after him, completely at a loss. He didn’t know what to do to make it up to him. He had plenty of ideas, sure; Play hooky and take him to Coney Island? See a picture, maybe? Maybe… But he needed something to make things better _now_. And nothing was coming to mind.    

           That was when he finally heard the music that was playing over the radio; ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’. A small grin bloomed onto his face as he looked up and mouthed a sincere, _Thank you_ , to whatever entity had taken pity on him. He knew what to do… He could fix this, yet.

            “Steve…”

            Silence.

            “Stevie,” he said a little louder.

            This time, pointed silence.

            “Come on, Stevie,” Bucky said through an amused huff, “This is our song.”

            A long suffering sigh came from the couch as Bucky stood from the table in the kitchen, his chair scraping the wooden floor. An easy grin was on his face now as he approached Steve, who was hunched over his sketchbook, shoulders tense with concentration.

            “Not now, Buck. I’m trying to work,” he waved his hand, dismissing him completely.

            Bucky wasn’t about to let that stop him. Now up against the couch, he leaned forward to wrap his arms around Steve’s chest and pulling him back. There was little resistance which meant that his heart wasn’t in fighting against him. That only made his grin wider. Bringing his mouth to Steve’s good ear, he sang along with the radio, his voice low and breathy, “Stars fading but I linger on dear, Still craving your kiss, I'm longing to linger till dawn dear, Just saying this…”

            “Bucky-” Steve let out a small huff of a laugh. Grinning even wider, he took that as an okay to keep going.

            “Sweet dreams, till sunbeams find you...”

            He made his way to the front of the couch, holding his hand out with a slight bow. After a few seconds of waiting, he looked up through his eyelashes to see Steve staring at him with that familiar look of exasperation and amusement. Bucky’s brow quirked up a bit at him, motioning to his hand.

            There was a long moment, too long, where Steve looked about to smack his hand away. Bucky let out a small breath as he finally took his hand. Not wasting a second, he pulled him in close, wrapping his hand around his slim waist. He began to sway them back and forth, looking down at his Steve with what he knew was an overly fond grin. He was thrilled to see that the expression was almost identical to Steve’s, though with pinch of irritation.

            “You’re such a jerk.”

            “Punk.”

            Steve rolled his eyes, his movements stiff, unsure. He was obviously not yet fully comfortable. That would not do.

            “I’m sorry, Stevie,” he tried, as he pulled him ever closer, their bodies flush, “I-”

            “Don’t. I get it. It’s fine,” Steve tried to brush it off, refusing to look him in the eyes.

            “It’s obviously not,” Bucky told him, his voice hushed as the music continued on over him. “Talk to me.”

            It took a moment for Steve to speak. When he did, his voice was barely heard over the music. It wasn’t much more than a rushed breath across Bucky’s collarbone, causing a small shiver to run through him.

            “I miss you, okay? You’re barely around anymore. Always off… doing whatever it is you’re doing,” he took a steadying breath, looking up into Bucky’s eyes, “It’s your birthday. We don’t need to talk about this. You should be out having a good time-” 

            Bucky couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Steve, stop. I’m where I wanna be.”

            Steve let out a piercing breath, shaking his head, “I get that we ain’t kids anymore but…”

            “But…?”

            “You-” he swallowed, squaring his shoulders as he did when he was trying to be brave, “You’re still my best guy.”

            It took Bucky only a couple of seconds to respond, and when he did, he couldn’t help the amused breath that escaped, “Why do you think I’m home now, punk?”

            Steve bristled in his arms, breaking eye contact to look over his shoulder, “’Cause you’re tired and wanted to get some rest for once?”

            Bucky scoffed, “No, dummy. It’s because I wanted to be with you. Ain’t no one I’d rather be with on the big two-one.”

            That seemed to be along the lines of the right thing to say because Steve finally relaxed slightly against him.

            “I’m sorry I’ve been such an idiot lately…” Bucky said, more sincerely than he thought Steve would believe, so he added, “And don’t go sayin’ ‘it’s fine’ ‘cause-”

            “I wasn’t gunna.”

            A laugh escaped Bucky before he could stop it, “I adore you. I’m sorry for being an ass. My mind hasn’t been in the right place-”

            “Is it now?” Steve chanced a look up at him through his ridiculously long lashes. Bucky swallowed the immediate response he had. Steve took his silence as a cue to elaborate, “Is your mind in the right place?”

            “Yeah,” he let out, his voice breathy, “Yeah, it is.”

            His mind was on Steve. And that was where it should always be. Steve _was_ always on his mind but he would be sure to place him at the forefront from that point on. He literally couldn’t afford to have it any other way.


	2. Cheek to Cheek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stoked y'all liked part one! Thanks to everyone giving it a shot. Here's to chapter two and to you liking that even more.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_June 7 th, 1941_

            “Thanks Buck. But I can get by on my own.”

            “The thing is… you don’t have to. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.”

            Steve’s jaw clenched. He didn’t know if he could do this. Despite everything, Bucky being there with him now was nothing but a painful reminder of his mother. They had been close, what with Bucky constantly around when they were growing up. It was easy enough for him to picture every little thing that he would miss about her without Bucky there to inadvertently remind him. But with him there, beside him… It took every ounce of strength he had to keep his face blank as he tried to shake him off. But, unfortunately for him, they were both too stubborn for their own good.

            “Come on,” Bucky said, a tight smile on his face as he pulled Steve into a one armed embrace, shoving the door open and forcing him inside, “I’ll help you clean up.”

            Steve tried to scoff at that but it came out more broken than he had expected. Bucky knew better than to acknowledge the sound so instead he said in a much too affronted tone, “Don’t make fun! I can be clean-”

            “Buck, I’ve known you for too long to take that statement seriously.”

            Bucky threw his lopsided grin at him, placing his suit jacket on the coat rack and rolling up the sleeves of his white button up. Steve tried to grin back, knowing it was a sad attempt but Bucky accepted it without question, making his way to the radio.

            “If you’re done bein’ a wise ass, let’s put some music on and get to work.”

            “Bucky, seriously,” Steve sighed, tossing his jacket over the back of the sofa, “You really don’t need to-”

            “This song-” Bucky said, pausing to turn the volume up and look back at him, “-is a classic.”

            Rolling his eyes, Steve obliged him as he gathered the few dirty dishes leftover from a mostly uneaten breakfast off of the kitchen table, “I’ve never heard it before.”

            “If you ever went out with me, you would know, as I do, that this is a classic,” he teased, picking up a wayward pair of shoes and placing them by the door.

            There was a slightly charged silence between them as Bucky swept and Steve washed the dishes. They both avidly ignored it, letting the music wash over them.

            Which worked for about twenty minutes.

            Steve was trying to gather all his art supplies from their scattered places around the small apartment when a song he did know filled the room.

            _Heaven, I’m in Heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak._

            His mom loved this song. Trying to school his now uneven breathing, he sucked in a harsh breath, his heart clenching painfully. He tried desperately to hold back the incoming cough. He managed to force it down to a harsh huff of breath. Glancing over his shoulder to see if Bucky had noticed, Steve was met with a wide and amused grin.

            “What,” Steve wheezed, somewhat defensively.

            “They’re playing our song.”

            Steve stared blankly at him. _This isn’t our song_ , he wanted to say. But Bucky was in front of him with a few quick steps. Stopping tentatively in front of him, he held out a hand. Without thinking, Steve took it. Bucky’s mouth twitched upward and he wrapped his left arm around his waist, intertwining the fingers of his right hand with Steve’s. He instantly began to step them, gracefully as he could with Steve’s two left feet, about the small space.

            “Heaven, I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak,” Bucky sang softly against the music. “And I seem to find the happiness I seek. When we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek.”

            Steve let himself be carried around the room by Bucky’s steady arms, a small laugh escaping him as he did. Followed by a small cough, which had them instantly slowing down.

            “You alright?” Bucky was still swaying with the music, his gaze steadily on Steve.

            “M’ fine.”

            Bucky wasn’t buying it, Steve could tell by the jut of his chin. But that didn’t keep him from dancing. He kept them swinging, slower than before, about the room. The fond look that had been on his face before was replaced by a defiantly concerned one. Steve sighed slightly, a small cough following.

            “I’m fine, Buck,” he said quickly.

            “Uh-huh. Not buying it, Rogers,” Bucky tilted his chin down to look him in the eye with a forced grin. It softened almost immediately at Steve’s narrow-eyed glare. He sighed.

            “Look, Steve,” he huffed, shaking his head, “I can only imagine what’s going on in that head of yours. How ‘bout you cut a guy some slack and just tell me.”

            Chewing the inside of his cheek, Steve found his gaze on the hollow in Bucky’s throat, temporarily rendered unable to respond. This was a bad idea, he decided. He should have told Bucky to go home. _He_ shouldn’t have come back here immediately after. He couldn’t do this.

            “There’s nothing to say, Buck,” he heard himself snap in response, tearing his gaze away and looking to his left.

            “Stevie, you know you can tell me anything. I just want to be here for you. Whatever it is you need. Even if you are a little punk,” he tried a smile, but it died almost instantly on his lips at the look on Steve’s face. Swallowing uneasily, he forced the next part out, “As I said before, I’m with you. Till the-”

            Steve found himself scoffing at that, “End of the line?”

            His whole body tensed up as the anger he had been holding down since before the funeral was finally beginning to surface. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he clenched his jaw and loosened his hand from Bucky’s.

            There was a tiny downturn of his lips as he said, “Yeah, pal. End of the-”             “I don’t need you looking after me, Bucky,” his voice was harsh as he extricated himself from Bucky’s arms with more force than necessary, causing Bucky to stumble back a few steps, “I can get by on my own.”

            “Yeah, Steve, I know you can,” Bucky agreed, his voice edging on irritation. “And, as I said, you don’t have to. Steve. Pal, come on. Let me- You know you’re my best g-”

            “Don’t say it,” Steve almost hissed, raising his arms defensively as he backed up towards the kitchen. He couldn’t bear hearing the words dangling on the tip of Bucky’s tongue. Not now. He was already on the edge and that… That was too much. “Don’t you dare say it.”

            “Say what?” Bucky’s voice was low, his own anger now unwittingly slipping through. His brow was furrowed as he stepped forward, following Steve as he backed away.

            “Steve. Say what?”

            “That I’m your best guy!” Steve almost shouted, his back hitting the chair at the kitchen table, forcing him to stop. He refused to meet Bucky’s gaze; he knew what he would find there and it wasn’t something he was prepared to deal with. Instead, he glared at the front door over his shoulder and said through clenched teeth, “We’re not kids anymore. You can stop saying that to me.”

            Bucky huffed out a breath, “Jesus, Steve-”

            “No,” he said, rounding the table quickly. Snatching his coat from the back of the couch, he was at the door within seconds. “No. I can’t do this with you right now, Buck.”

            Bucky was too stunned to move as Steve threw his jacket over his shoulder. Steve’s jaw was clenched as he made a pitiful attempt at looking up at him. He was more looking at his clavicle than Bucky’s face.

            “I can’t do this, Bucky,” he repeated. “I need to be left alone. I can do this myself.”

            Steve wasn’t sure at this point who he was trying to convince but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His eyes lifted to Bucky’s and he took a deep breath before saying, “Don’t be here when I get back… Please.”

            Turning his back to him, eyes stinging fiercely, Steve was out of the door before he could see or hear Bucky’s reaction. He was down the stairs and on the street just as fast. The farther he got from the apartment, the clearer his head felt. But, with each step he took, his heart sank further. Taking a stuttering breath, he slowed his pace and ducked into the next alley he found. Hands on his knees, he breathed heavily in and then out, in an attempt at controlling the oncoming asthma attack. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks no matter how hard he attempted to staunch them.

            He couldn’t do this. It was too much. He didn’t know if he had it in him.

            _Heaven. I’m in Heaven. And the cares that hung around me through the week…_

            Straightening up slightly, he forced himself to breathe even deeper. In, then out. In again, then out. Wiping his face on his sleeve, Steve took a few more breaths before standing as straight as he could manage and heading right out of the alley and back down the main road. He had to keep moving, that was all he knew. He had to keep walking, keep going. Where? It didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than where he was.

            Lyrics echoed relentlessly through his mind as he put as much distance between him and the apartment as he could.

            _Seem to vanish like a gambler’s lucky streak, when we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek._


	3. I'll Never Smile Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 14th, 1943

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Veterans Day! I felt like today would be a good day to post in observance of those who have given their life and those who have served in the name of what they believed in and our freedom. Thank you to all the Vets out there! I raise my glass to you.
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. NOTHING. It's unfortunate, really.
> 
> As ever, thank you to my beta and true pal, Chelsea. You're the best/worst and I love you despite my better judgment. I cry, you cry, right?

_June 14 th, 1943_

            He couldn’t believe it. Even staring at it, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The emboldened 1A stared up at him, almost challengingly. And, as always, Steve took that challenge head-on, without so much as a second thought. He finally had his chance to make a difference. Why would he think twice about it when he was being handed the opportunity? He wouldn’t. So he didn’t.

            Shaking his head, a stupid grin on his face, he squinted through the dark down at his watch. It looked like it said 11:43. He had been sitting in the dark with his ticket to the war in front of him for hours. The only light in the apartment that was on was the one flickering pitifully in the kitchen. It cast a familiarly eerie glow across the kitchen table, where he sat glued to the chair.

            It was getting late but he couldn’t bring himself to go to bed. Physically, he was exhausted. Mentally? Well, his mind wouldn’t shut up. Which was why the bottle of whisky he and Bucky saved for special occasions (or for whenever they felt like having a drink) sat in front of him. His thoughts kept going from exhilarated, to terrified, to guilty and back. As much as he knew he was doing the right thing, he was still nervous. 

            And then there was Bucky to think about. Their awkward goodbye played on a loop in his mind and it did not sit well with him. That wasn’t how it was supposed to have gone. Throwing back another shot, he swallowed with a grimace and a cough. If Steve had any say, it would have ended with them, alone in their apartment. He didn’t care what they were doing, just as long as they were together. One last time before everything changed. Because this was it. As excited as he was to have his chance to serve, Steve knew that things would never be the same if… _when_ they got back.

            Gritting his teeth, Steve abandoned the glass and took a swig straight from the bottle. He rubbed his face, groaning wearily as his thoughts went to how pissed Bucky would be if he knew… how worried he would be if he knew Steve was going to be joining him on the front, sooner rather than later. Or at all.

            God, he would be livid. But Steve wouldn’t let himself feel bad about that. He was finally doing what he knew he was meant to do. He was going to help win the war. And not just by picking out scrap metal from a junkyard.

            That thought made the grin on his face grow, “Finally.”

            A bang on the front door made Steve jump instantly out of his chair and inadvertently knock the bottle of whisky over.

            “Fuck!” he snatched the bottle up as fast as he could and was distractedly pleased to find that he only spilled a shot’s worth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his 1A float to the ground. Another bang at the door made him hunch over warily, glancing around urgently for anything he could use as a weapon. All he could find at his disposal was the empty glass on the table; the still half full bottle of whisky was not an option. He picked up the glass and crouched into a defensive position, ready to throw it if necessary. The door finally burst open and through it came a very inebriated Bucky Barnes.

            Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he straightened up, his heart thudding heavily despite him, “Goddammit, Barnes.”

            “Steve!” he yelled, as if he hadn’t seen him in ages. Steve shushed him, causing him to say, “Steve!” again, but in a dramatic whisper.

            Snorting, Steve shook his head as he placed the glass back on the table, scooping up the bottle and taking a swig. He attempted to hold back a cough as the liquid made its way roughly down his throat. Plopping back onto his chair with an, “Oomph”, he turned, slightly bleary eyed, to assess the state that Bucky was in.

            And what he saw was a mess.

            From his missing hat and un-tucked shirt to the frenzied, unfocused look in his eyes, Steve couldn’t help the rush of affection he felt toward the idiot in front of him.

            Steve looked pointedly away as a small blush crept up his neck that he chose to attribute to the alcohol. Clearing his throat, he said gruffly and as eloquently as the booze allowed, “What happened to your hat?”

            Bucky’s grin faded as he reached up to his head to feel around, shoulders slumping and face crumbling almost immediately, “Sonofabitch!”

            “Language,” Steve grinned, taking a sip from the bottle. Bucky flipped him the bird and Steve laughed delightedly, “Aw, Buck! You’re finally learning sign language. How swe- ow!”

            Bucky moved to smack him upside the head again, but feinted to the right and swooped on the bottle in Steve’s hand. Luckily for Steve, he was more sober than his friend and snatched the bottle away from him easily. Bucky slipped in his drunken stupor, his hand catching on the edge of the table, leaving his face inches from Steve’s. The smell of alcohol mixed with sweat and pomade filled his senses, making him light-headed as his heart skipped a beat. Swallowing heavily, he knew he had to say something.

            “I didn’t think I would see you again… tonight.”

            Bucky chuckled lightly, leveling Steve with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Come on, Stevie. You didn’t think _that_ was gunna be our goodbye, did you?”

            Steve’s jaw clenched, not sure of how to respond. So his mouth worked for him, “I thought you were gunna be out with Connie and Bonnie all night.”

            Bucky scrunched his nose at that, swaying slightly, “Naw, after you left, wasn’t as fun. ‘Sides, they’re not quite my type.”

            “And what is your type?” Steve heard himself say, the bottle instantly at his lips in an attempt to shut himself up. But Bucky leaned ever closer, eyes glancing down briefly to his mouth, making him stop and stare in response. A grin spread wide across his face as his eyes slipped back up to Steve’s. He licked his lips, almost obscenely. Steve was having a hard time concentrating. It felt like his heart had stopped. And that was when Bucky snatched the bottle out of his hands, laughing lightly as he stumbled away.

            He took a swig without so much as a glance back, “Kings is my type.”

            Steve scoffed, “You’re such a little shit, you know that? I thought joining the Army was supposed to make you a better person.”

            Bucky shrugged from his place by the radio, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. Music began to play as he said, “Old habits die hard.”

            Sighing, Steve looked down at his empty glass with a small whine that died on his lips almost immediately. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his enlistment form lying on the floor, face up. The bright red 1A looked up at him, challengingly.

 _Shit_.

            His heart skipped a beat as he swooped down and grabbed it, shoving it hastily into his trouser pocket. When he looked up to see if Bucky had seen him, he was faced with a curious gaze.

            “What?” he said defensively.

            “Nothing,” he told him, holding his hands up in surrender. Bucky grinned as he made his way to Steve in what he assumed was supposed to be a graceful saunter but fell short when he ran into the back of a chair.

            Steve had to give it to him, though… Bucky always recovered smoothly.

            “Come on,” he said with a crooked grin, his hand held out, “They’re playin’ our song, pal.”

            Despite the warmth in his chest spreading to every corner of his body at Bucky’s sentiment, Steve found himself frowning at the words.

            “This ain’t our song,” he said blatantly.

            Instead of questioning him, Bucky rolled his eyes and said, “Way to kill the mood, punk,” before grabbing his hand and pulling him into his arms.

            “It’s our song if I say it is,” he muttered into Steve’s ear, making him shiver.

            “That’s not how it works, jerk,” Steve continued to argue, making Bucky huff out a laugh. “You can’t just decide that every song is our song whenever it’s convenient. ‘Sides, this song is damn depressing. What would it say about us if this were our song?”

            Bucky let out an insulted squawk, “It is not depressing! It’s rom-”

_I'll never love again, I'm so in love with you, I'll never thrill again to somebody new._

            Jaw clenched, he tried again, “Well, I mean-”

 _Within my heart, I know I will never start… To smile again, Until I smile at you_.

            Raising his eyebrow at Bucky, Steve pointedly said nothing with a slight quirk of his lips. Bucky rolled his eyes again, his head lolling back then landing with a heavy thud on Steve’s shoulder. Steve was sure Bucky could hear his erratic heartbeat, being so close, and that only made it beat ever faster.

            “Okay, fine! It’s depressing. We can change it if you-”

            “No, it’s fine,” Steve cut him off, a bit too quickly, making him blush. He blamed the alcohol but Bucky didn’t seem to notice or care. His only response was to pull him in closer, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

            A heavy silence fell over them as they drunkenly swayed to the decidedly depressing song. There was much to say, but no good way to say it and they both knew it. So neither of them spoke.

            For a while.

            “I’ll be back before you know it,” Bucky mumbled, his face now nuzzled into Steve’s collar. His hot breath on Steve’s neck did nothing to help him clear his mind and formulate an articulate response. Instead he wisely chose to clench his jaw shut and stare blankly over Bucky’s shoulder.

            “Come on, Stevie, you know I’ll be fine.”

            He wasn’t quite sure why, but those words had the opposite effect that he assumed Bucky was going for. His shoulders tensed up and he was suddenly glaring up at him.

            “I don’t know that, though, do I?” Steve said, his voice clipped as every emotion and thought in him threatened to bubble to the surface. He was shaking as he said, “And neither do you. It’s war, Buck. It’s unpredictable. Who’s gunna watch over your dumb ass without me there?”

            “I got some pals going over with me. I’ll be fi-”

            “Stop! No matter how many times you say that you’ll ‘be fine’, I ain’t buyin’ it. How do you expect- mmph-”

            Bucky’s lips were on his for only a second before Steve was pulling away, stumbling slightly as he did. He caught himself on Bucky’s arms and stared up at him, lips tingling fiercely. He could taste alcohol and cigarettes, with a hint of peach. It drove him wild.

            His voice cracked as he said, “What was that?”

            Bucky smirked, half-heartedly, his face mere inches from Steve’s, “What did it feel like, Rogers?”

            Anything and everything he had wanted to say or do had somehow been magically erased from his mind. With the exception of one thing… One thing he had known since the moment he met Bucky. One thing he had struggled with for the majority of his life. He wanted this, _him_ , so badly. And, if the look Bucky was giving him was anything to go by, he was finally allowed to get what he wanted.

            So he didn’t wait a second longer, surging forward and crushing his lips against Bucky’s. There was nothing tender about it. Now that he knew what Bucky tasted like, he needed more. It was an overwhelming desire that filled him and drove him to keep his body pressed against Bucky’s. He felt invincible. Nothing could stop him.

            Naturally, that was when Bucky pulled back slightly with a low and breathy laugh, “Been wanting to do that since I was twelve.”

            “What kept you?” Steve asked, his head swimming.

            Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes and saying, “Oh, I dunno, Steve. Alotta things. One of them bein’ the fact that I didn’t know if you’d deck me if I did-”

            For good measure, Steve punched him bodily in the arm.

            “Ow!”

            “That’s for waiting so long, you idiot- OW, what the hell?”

            Bucky had, in turn, punched him in the arm with a smirk, “It takes two, punk. You could have just as easily said something.”

            “Yeah, well, I didn’t wanna ruin what we had…” he realized as he said it that that was obviously Bucky’s reasoning, too. That conclusion was validated by the raised brow he knew too well to mean ‘There ya go’.

            “For such a wise guy, you’re not too bright, are ya?”

            “Shut your mouth,” Steve said, though his words weren’t as powerful through the grin that wouldn’t leave his face.

            “Is that really what you want?” Bucky asked before kissing him again. Steve had imagined for well over ten years what his lips would feel like. And everything he had ever imagined was nothing compared to the real thing. It was far more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d ever had. It was hot and wet; fierce. Perfect.

            Until Bucky stopped, pulling away to stare down at Steve earnestly, “Promise me something?”

            Steve’s brow rose in question. They both knew he wouldn’t agree to anything without hearing what it was first. Bucky snorted but obliged him.

            “Keep your nose clean, huh? I’ve been waiting too long for this to have it ruined by something as stupid as war or- well, to be frank, your uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. No,” Bucky said as Steve’s mouth opened to protest, “Promise me you’ll try and be less of an idiot while I’m gone? I need to be able to come back to you. I need you to look forward to. Please.”

            And Steve’s heart dropped clear through his stomach to the floor. Grimacing slightly, he said, “Buck, I- This can’t- We won’t ever-”

            Shaking his head, Bucky silenced him with a lingering kiss; innocent yet urgent.

            “Can we just- Let’s just enjoy right now, okay? Please.”

            Steve had only ever heard that tone a handful of times from him in his life. And each time, Steve had been on his deathbed. He knew the alcohol had something to do with it but, no matter how much Bucky had to drink, he was always somewhat in control. So, Steve clenched his jaw tightly and nodded, despite himself. At this point, all he could do was agree with him. If he opened his mouth now, he knew he would regret it.

            The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched in response and he nodded, too, letting out a slow breath as he did. The song they had been dancing to had long since ended, a new one playing in its stead. They both continued to sway, staring at each other without knowing what to say.

            Steve had memorized his face ages ago. He had drawn it enough times to know every mark and forming wrinkle. Every stray hair that refused to stay put regardless of how much gel he used. The color of his eyes and the endless light and hope behind them. But Steve still raked his eyes over his face, hungrily memorizing it again though Bucky’s was a face he couldn’t forget if he tried.

            “’Till the end of the line?” he heard himself say.

            Bucky’s eyes crinkled, a sad smile tugging at his mouth as he leaned forward, saying against Steve’s lips, “End of the line.”            


	4. Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 28th, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected to update... And for that, I do apologize... But I did it!
> 
> Special thanks to my precious sunflower. You know who you are. And, as always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, I own nothing. True story.

_December 28 th 1944_

 

            Steve was immeasurably grateful for any small reprieve he and the Commandos were able to get. They had destroyed a Hydra base somewhere in the south of France a few days ago and, needless to say, they were exhausted and most were in desperate need of a drink. The very last of their energy was spent on finding somewhere safe to hunker down and regroup. Thankfully, due to Gabe and Jacques’s charm and knowledge of the language, an animated Frenchman waved them into his barn.

            Gabe translated while Jacques did most of the talking, “He says we’re most welcome and- yes! He’ll bring us some food! Merci! Merci beaucoup!”

            “Merci,” Steve nodded to the man, who bowed out of the barn, closing the doors behind him.

            “Well,” Steve turned to his men, a relieved grin spreading across his face, “Rest is an order, I s’pose.”

            “That goes for all of us,” Bucky said, glaring intently at Steve, who rolled his eyes only slightly.

            “Yes, all of us,” he said, turning back to the Commandos, “We have at least eighteen hours before we need to move out. Do what you will.”

            “Dum Dum, where’s that boo-” Morita started just as Dugan held up the bottle of whisky they had found at a bombed out bar several days ago. Maybe a week ago. All Steve knew was that they had been saving it for something special. He supposed this time counted as well as any other they had lately.

            “Ahhh, Dugan, you just get me,” Morita sighed, throwing his pack carelessly aside and reaching forward for the bottle. Dugan instantly snatched it away from his grasp.

            “Now, now, Jim, hold on a sec, huh? Don’t you think the first drink should go to Cap?”

            “Aw, no, fellas,” Steve shook his head, holding his hands up in deference, “You know I can’t benefit from it so don’t go wastin’ it on me. Enjoy it while you can.”

            “You heard the man, hand it over,” Morita snatched it easily from Dugan’s grasp, instantly taking a hearty swig. Gulping it down, he took a deep breath and chugged again before Gabe was tearing it from his fingers with a curse.

            Snorting, Steve looked over to Bucky, who had his back to him as he slunk away. Leaning against a bale of hay, he sunk to the floor, his head falling gracelessly into his hands. Steve bit his tongue at that, instead looking back to the Commandos, his eyes almost instantly meeting Dugan’s.

His gaze was heavy as he said, “Cap, a word?”

            Steve tried not to show his concern in the nod he gave. He simply followed Dugan out of the barn, throwing one last look behind him at Bucky’s hunched form.

            “What is it, Dugan?” he breathed out when they were far enough away from the entrance.

            Dugan stared at him blankly for a few prolonged seconds before letting out a deep sigh and scrubbing his face wearily with both hands.

            “Cap. Listen. I don’t exactly know how to say this other than just coming out and saying it-”

            “Then spit it out.”

            Dugan sucked in a breath, “Sarge is pretty screwed up. We all know you were- uh- buddies way before any of this _._ You were pretty much all he talked about some days. So… well, you know how to make him better.”

            Steve stared blankly at him, unsure of how to respond.

            Dugan took the hint and, with a swift glance to the barn door, added, “So… Make him better.”

            Steve faltered, his ‘Captain’ voice as the Commandos called it, only seemed to grow in intensity, “And how the hell do you suppose I do that?”

            “I dunno! That’s why I’m calling in the cavalry!”

            Steve couldn’t help but stare at Dugan, dumbfounded. Finally, without knowing where the words came from, he spewed out in a slight hiss, “Do you know what they did to him back at Azzano? How they tortured him?

            “I- No.”

            “Yeah, neither do I. Ya know why? ‘Cause he won’t talk to me about it. He refuses to tell me what they did to him. Why he wakes up terrified in the middle of the night. What the scars are from- He won’t tell me a goddamn thing and I don’t-”

            Steve cut himself off with a glance to the barn. Taking a deep breath, he continued, his voice barely audible, “Don’t you think I’d have done something to make him better by now if I could have?”

            Dugan just stared at him. He didn’t speak for a moment, just stared. Clenching his jaw, he looked down at his boots before looking back up at Steve, “Ya know. The guys and I pulled straws to decide which of us would give you the talk. And we all agreed that whoever got the short straw wasn’t allowed to have any booze if they failed. Therefore, I refuse to go back in there without having convinced you to actually do something- _anything_ \- to get Sarge out of his own head for even a few minutes.”

            He was looking pointedly at Steve now, making him shift awkwardly from one foot to the other.

            “Steve, are you hearing me? Do what you gotta do. We don’t care. You guys are family,” Dugan told him seriously, his hand firmly gripping Steve’s shoulder, staring into his eyes, “Do what you gotta, okay?”

            Silence.

            “What could I possibly do that I haven’t tried already? I’ve tried everything…” Steve tapered off at Dugan’s raised brow.

            “What you and the Sarge do is none of my business, Cap. Don’t need the details.”

            Steve’s heart skipped a beat, hands instantly feeling sweaty as they clenched into fists. He forced himself to relax enough to say, “Dugan, Bucky and I- We’re-”

            Dugan let out a huff of a laugh, clapping Steve on the shoulder, “I’m gunna stop you right there, buddy. You’re a horrible liar so don’t embarrass yourself with some half-assed story. Instead, go in there and make your guy feel better.”

            Steve remained silent and Dugan rolled his eyes, “If not for him, do it for me. I need a drink real bad, Cap. Please.”

            Snorting at that, Steve looked down at his snow covered boots. He knew he was blushing but he couldn’t necessarily bring himself to care. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the Commandos saw through them. They were sharp men. Tolerant. Steve was hit with a sudden wave of gratitude.

            And he had an idea.

            “Does that radio of Morita’s still work?”

            Dugan grinned, “Pretty sure.”

            “You think it’s possible that he could pick up some music?”

            “Cap. I think anything’s possible if you have enough motivation.”

 

            Morita got the radio to play music within moments of being asked. The song that came on was surprisingly American and one he had not heard before. Steve swallowed thickly, breathing in heavily in an attempt to brace himself for what he was about to do. With an enthusiastic thumbs up from the Commandos, Steve made his way over to where Bucky was crouched in the same position he had molded himself into earlier. It couldn’t have been comfortable and that, in itself, made Steve’s heart clench tightly.

            “Buck.”

            Nothing.

            “Bucky,” he tried again, clearing his throat, “They’re- uh, they’re playin’ our song.”

            It took a moment for Bucky to focus. But when he did, he looked up at Steve, his face schooled into a blank expression. Steve’s heart felt as if it were in a vice. Bucky forcing a tight lipped smile for him only made it worse.

            “This ain’t our song, punk.”

            Steve’s eyes rolled despite himself as he let out a small huff and held out his hand, “Shut up and dance with me, jerk.”

            “Steve…” Bucky shook his head slightly, sounding pained.

            “Come on, Buck,” Steve tried desperately to keep his voice steady but he knew he failed. Even to his ears, it sounded like begging, “Please.”

            Bucky clenched his jaw, his eyes sweeping over to the Commandos who were thankfully deeply invested in the bottle in their hands and the card game in front of them. Even then, he seemed uncertain. Looking back up at Steve, he seemed to be struggling internally before finally reaching up and letting himself be pulled up into Steve’s arms.

            Except he wouldn’t stand closer than almost an arms length away. Steve couldn’t hide his grimace; this very obviously wasn’t working.

            “Bucky, it’s fine. They don’t-” he tried but Bucky stopped him with an indignant glare. The silence that followed had Steve holding his breath, painfully. He cringed bodily when he heard a “Booo!” that sounded much like Morita. Steve and Bucky both sent a withering glare at the Commandos, who were all staring unabashedly at them. Dugan looked thoroughly scandalized as he shouted, “Dammit, Cap! Hold him like you mean it!”

            Steve raised an eyebrow, slowly and as menacingly as possible, “How ‘bout you mind your own damn business, Dugan?”

            The Commandos, including Dugan, let out a petulant, “Ooooh!” followed by a raucous round of cackling.

            “Language!” Morita shouted over the laughter.

            Steve whipped his head around to Bucky, his eyes shining with amusement while his voice was accusing, “Seriously, Buck?”

            “That story’s hilarious, Steve,” Bucky shrugged slightly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was finally starting to relax against Steve, inching closer. Steve was still painfully aware of the space between them. Thankfully for him, the Commandos attention was back on the cards and alcohol at their disposal to notice his awkward and fumbling attempt at leading in their dance.

            “I was completely justified in saying that at the time,” Steve said, watching his feet as they continued to awkwardly box step their way through the song. Bucky just shook his head, the ghost of his grin fading slowly as he kept up easily with Steve’s clumsy rhythm.

            Steve concentrated hard on not stepping on any toes as his stomach churned uncomfortably. He was in the middle of second guessing his idea of asking Bucky to dance when he heard an amused snort. Steve looked up just in time to see Bucky roll his eyes as he said, “Jesus, Rogers. Could you have picked a more depressing song?”

            Steve stopped immediately and blinked. That was unexpected. “What?”

            Bucky shot him an incredulous look in the form of a raised brow and deadpan expression, “Do you hear these lyrics?”

            “I-”

            But Bucky held up a finger, motioning for him to listen.

_Into each life some rain must fall, But too much is falling in mine, Into each heart some tears must fall..._

            “Depressing,” he said, conclusively, starting to move again to the music.

            Steve scoffed at that, attempting to control the blush that crept up his cheeks as he looked away and mumbled, “I think it’s romantic.”

            Bucky barked out a laugh at that, eyes crinkled as he shook his head, “Of course you do.”

            “‘Dream a little dream’ is depressing. This? This is hopeful,” he said, defensively.

            “’Dream a little dream’ is _not_ depressing!” Bucky almost shouted, looking slightly up at Steve with an affronted air, “That song is perfect.”

            “Buck,” Steve said, his condescendingly amused smile all too familiar to Bucky, “You can’t seriously tell me that you think that that’s a happy song.”

            Bucky’s laugh was clipped as he stared at Steve expectantly for a moment before saying, “This conversation ringing any bells?”

            It took Steve only a few seconds for his mind to register what Bucky was referring to but when he did, a sheepish smile was instantly in place, “Just before you shipped out. You came home _hammered-_ ”

            “Excuse you, _Captain._ You were also quite drunk. And I seem to remember you withholding some pertinent information…”

            “You know as well as I do that you would have reacted poorly,” Steve defended himself, “Case in point, a few days after Azzano. Phillips would have had you sent home if I hadn’t physically stepped between you two. Which, in retrospect…”

            Bucky didn’t flinch at that, instead barreling on to say, “I stand by that verbal abuse. You’re an idiot and you shouldn’t’ve done what you did to get here. For that lecture, and every other one I am bound to give you, I will not apologize.”

            Shaking his head, Steve let out a small huff, “Fair enough. That being said, you know I can’t apologize for what I did to get here. I did what I had to-”

            “Jesus, you’re too noble for your own good,” Bucky laughed at him. “I’ve known you too long to be surprised by what you did, pal. Doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed about it.”

            “Agree to disagree, then.”

            As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he knew they sounded off. He held back the cringe, attempting to pull it off as a grin as he changed tack immediately.

            “But… Buck,” Steve said in the best ‘Captain’ voice he could muster, “Be honest… How much more boring would your life be without me?”

            The sound that Bucky let out was somewhere between a sob and a scoff as he punched him in the arm, ruthlessly, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘peaceful’, you little shit.”

            “Tomayto, tomahto,” Steve grinned, but Bucky’s gaze was suddenly distant as he stared over Steve’s shoulder. He was beginning to shut down and Steve panicked, his stomach flipping uncomfortably; he wasn’t about to let this happen again.

            “Hey,” he said, ducking his head slightly in an attempt at making eye contact. It didn’t work. He tried again, this time almost whispering, “Hey, Buck, talk to me. Please. I just-”

            “Steve…” Bucky started, his voice tight.

            “I just wanna know what’s going on in there,” Steve pleaded, “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

            “Please stop…” he said through clenched teeth, his whole body tense, almost vibrating. His grip on Steve tightened, painfully. Steve couldn’t begin to care.

            “Till the end of the line, remember?” he said, forcing his voice to stay light, “I’m not going any-”

            _"Stop_!” Bucky yelled, shoving Steve away as far as he could, his breathing suddenly erratic.

            “Just fucking _stop_. Jesus Christ, Steve,” he huffed out a maniacal laugh, his voice getting louder and louder over the music, “Why are you doing this? Huh? Because you’re _worried_? Is it because you feel bad … _guilty_?”

            “What? Buck, no! I-”

            “Save it, Stevie,” he forced out a harsh laugh. It sounded horribly wrong to Steve’s ears, making him cringe. “For fuckin’ once in your life, just leave it alone. Just- give me some fucking space, will ya?”

            Steve was frozen in place, forced to watch and do nothing as Bucky got as far from him as possible. After a few seconds of deafening silence, Steve remembered to breathe, slowly taking in a lungful of air before exhaling shakily. He had never seen Bucky like this. He didn’t know what to do, how to make it better. For the first time in a long while, Steve was at a loss. He felt about five foot, four inches, a buck twenty-five soaking wet, again. Helpless and useless. Bucky didn’t want anything to do with him. He couldn’t help the one person he truly wanted to help. What kind of friend was he?

            “Cap?” someone said.

            He didn’t respond, still staring after Bucky.

            “Steve, snap out of it and go after him. _Now._ ”

            “But he said-”

            “No- _putain idiote_ \- Go out there now. Make it better.”

 

            Steve was shoved bodily out into the cold, Bucky’s coat thrown at his face as the Commandos shut the door behind them. He had, of course, caught it deftly whilst shooting them a ridiculously stern glare.

            “You realize that I outrank all of you and could probably get you all court marshaled for insubordination,” he hissed in their direction. The only indication that they had heard him was the snickering just beyond the closed door. He tried not to be bitter about the fact that they hadn’t also thought to throw him his coat as he moved forward, clutching Bucky’s tightly. The Commandos were almost instantly forgotten as he heard a soft whimper come from the side of the barn.

            His feet carried him through the sludge and around the corner before he could even begin to think of what he would say to Bucky when he found him. As it turned out, his voice abandoned him completely upon seeing Bucky punching the brick wall of the building just next door. He punched again and again, a more wretched sound escaping him each time. The music from the barn echoed eerily in the small space to the beat of Bucky’s fists meeting the hard wall. Steve felt as if he were in a bad dream, the way the light of the nearly full moon drenched the alley and Bucky just enough to make everything look almost surreal. He could only see part of Bucky’s face. And what he saw nearly ripped Steve’s heart in two.

            That’s when his brain finally caught up with what was happening. He rushed forward, catching Bucky’s fist mid punch. He didn’t account for the other fist, which collided perfectly with what felt like his kidney, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that it was painful and Bucky was pulling back to hit again.

            “Buck, it’s me!” Steve tried just as Bucky’s fist barreled into the side of his head. His face missed hitting the wall by mere inches, his left arm taking the brunt of the hit. He could feel another punch coming his way but, thankfully, he was able to catch the fist flying towards him, his voice cracking as he ordered, “Sergeant, _stand down_!”

            Bucky’s arms dropped immediately, though his body remained tense. His breathing was labored as he seemingly forced himself to look up. He looked miserable and confused. It was painful to watch him attempt to focus on anything around him. Finally getting the confirmation he needed from his surroundings, he was able to croak out a, “S-Steve?”

            Steve let out a shaky breath, itching to reach forward and pull Bucky close. But he needed space, which was clear from his still clenched fists. “Yeah, pal. It’s me.”

            “Steve,” he sounded overly relieved, a ghost of a smile passing over his face before turning into a grimace, “I thought you- Did I… I hit you. _Fuck_ , I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

            “It’s fine. I’m fine,” Steve assured him quickly, running his thumb tenderly over Bucky’s bloodied knuckles. “You’re bleeding.”

            Bucky looked down at his hand in Steve’s and said, “I don’t feel anything.”

            “You’re probably cold,” Steve said remembering the jacket the Commandos had thrown at him and quickly turning back to retrieve it from where it lay forgotten in the snow.

            As he draped it around Bucky’s shoulders, the man shook his head slowly and said, “No. You don’t understand. I don’t feel _anything,_ Steve.”

            Steve’s jaw clenched at that, “What do you-”

            “They pulled me out,” he ground out, flexing his hand, refusing to make eye contact, “They pulled me out, jumbled me up and barely stuffed me back in. I don’t… I _can’t_ feel anything.”

            He was staring blankly down at the ground. Steve followed his gaze to see droplets of blood glistening in the patch of snow between them. Bucky turned his attention back to his hand, almost whispering, “I feel like I’m drowning. Like I can’t breathe properly.”

            Steve’s throat closed up on him. He didn’t know what to do to make this better. He didn’t know if there was anything he _could_ do.

            “I’m trying, though,” Bucky said, drawing his shoulders back and straightening up to his full height. Pulling in a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and finally turned his eyes to Steve’s, an easy smile in place. In just seconds, his entire demeanor had changed; a trait that Steve had been jealous of as a child. It was almost unsettling but he knew Bucky’s defense mechanisms well. And he knew better than to call him out on it.

            Letting out a sharp breath, Bucky pressed one hand to his chest and pushing hard, “Is this what asthma feels like? I feel like this is what asthma feels like.”

            Steve let out a sharp laugh, looking away for only a second before turning back and trying, “Buck, I-”

            “Nope. I’m gunna stop you right there,” Bucky held up a hand to silence him, “Don’t feel bad for me, Rogers. I can tell that’s what’s happening here. And you know how much I hate that shit. I’ll be fine. I just… It’s going to take time for it to be fine. And war ain’t really a good place to try and get over something like… that. So stop it.”

            “I wasn’t-”

            “What did I just say?”

            “But-”

            “Steve!”

            “I wasn’t feeling bad for you!” Steve finally got out.

            Bucky raised a brow at him, “You know you’re a horrible liar. I don’t know why you keep trying to pull it off.”

            “I’m not lying,” he bristled at Bucky’s statement, which Steve realized too late by the look on his face, had been exactly what he was going for. He scoffed at that, continuing regardless, “I’m worried about you, Buck. So’re the Commandos. They literally drew straws to tell me to get my head out of my ass and actively do something to cheer you up.”

            “I know,” Bucky said through a grin, taking a small step forward, “I heard them talking about it earlier. They’re not very stealthy, considering.”

            “They mean well,” Steve shrugged, following Bucky’s lead and moving closer.

            Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve let himself reach out and place a light hand on Bucky’s cheek. A shiver went through them both as his thumb traced an invisible path down to his chin, tilting it up as he did.

            “I won’t let anything happen to you,” Steve promised, wrapping his arms around Bucky and holding him tight. It took a few seconds for Bucky to respond but, when he did, he buried his face in Steve’s shoulder.

            Bucky’s laugh was muffled, not bothering to lift his head as he said, “Okay, Steve.”

            He couldn’t bring himself to add that he didn’t think he was strong enough to handle anything happening to Bucky again. Denial had always been something Steve excelled at (Azzano came to mind, immediately) but even he knew luck was finite.

            Instead, he promised again, “End of the line.”

            Bucky raised his head, to see Steve’s expression. Finally, his lips twitched in what would have been a smile, as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth gently to Steve’s. It was tender and innocent. Perfect. Steve’s stomach lurched, his chest burning. His eyes stayed blissfully closed as Bucky pulled back and whispered, “Yeah, pal. End of the line.”


	5. Unforgettable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 20th, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to update and I'm sorry. I'm actually kind of the worst. I was working on a part from Bucky's POV that I decided is going to be part of an 'extras' series of sorts. So here's this little guy... Enjoy! (?)
> 
> Also, thanks, as per usual, to Lars for putting up with me.

_September 20 th, 2014_

            As soon as they were through the door, Sam threw his pack to the side and made a beeline straight for the couch, his shoes abandoned along the way. Sighing heavily, he collapsed onto the softest cushions he’s known intimately for too long.

            “You get first shower because you reek worse than I do-”

            “There’s more than one shower, Sam,” Steve said, his tone was the strange emotionless void that had been becoming too common.

            Sam ignored his quip, and tone, muttering, “I’m just gunna lay here while you do your super-soldier hygiene thing. Take your time…”

            He didn’t hear Steve’s response as he was already drifting off. It had been a long five months of intermittent searching for the Winter Sol- Bucky. For Bucky. It was a somewhat difficult distinction for him to make but he did his best for Steve. He needed someone with a level head when it came to this search. And Sam did what he could for the guy. But there was only so much he _could_ do.

 

            Sam didn’t remember falling asleep, which made it even more jarring when he heard several bangs and crashes coming from Steve’s room. He was standing, gun drawn, before his brain thoroughly comprehended that he was awake.

            “Steve?”

            The door to his bedroom was thrown open. Steve was storming from it to the front door, pointedly not looking at Sam.

            “Steve, what happened? What’s going on?”

            “Nothing. I’m going for a run,” he responded, tightly.

            “We literally just-” the door slammed behind him, “-got back… Okay.”

            Sam, now completely awake thanks to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, glanced back to Steve’s room. The door was still hanging open. He battled with himself for a few seconds before curiosity won and he found himself standing just outside the room. What he saw was almost as painful as what he heard. He found himself looking at a wreck of broken items scattered on the hardwood floor while the Stark music system continued to play.

            _Unforgettable. In every way. And forevermore, that’s how you’ll stay. That’s why darling, it’s incredible. That someone so unforgettable. Thinks that I am unforgettable, too._

            Sighing heavily, wearily, Sam rubbed his face before stepping into the room to pick up the pieces of lamp, wood and bits of plastic broken from the stereo. As he bent down to turn the music off, he made a mental note to delete that song, and any other he deemed unsavory. Also, to kill Stark, who was obviously responsible for the music Steve was listening to as he was the one who had given him the already programmed device in the first place.

            Stark’s death could come later. For now… Steve needed a friend. And that was one thing he knew he could be.


	6. I'll Be Seeing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 19th, 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm the worst. But here's another little guy to make up for that... Maybe?
> 
> Thanks for reading! I appreciate you! And hope you enjoy <3

_December 19 th, 2015_

            It had been almost four days since Bucky had left his room for anything more than a protein bar. Steve knew better than to try and convince him to come out into even just the living room. When this happened, he left Bucky alone to do what he needed to do.

            Which is why when he was informed just that morning that Natasha and Sam had found another Hydra cell, his first thought was that this was the worst timing. It must have shown on his face because they (Sam) immediately told him that he didn’t have to go with them. He leveled them with a withering glare and asked where it was and when they were leaving. Sam sent a one-sided glance at Natasha, who kept her neutral gaze on Steve.

            As it turned out, they were leaving that night. So, Steve had spent the majority of the day trying to figure out the best way to approach telling Bucky that he would be gone for a few days. Even without him isolating himself, it was something he dreaded doing. He always felt so guilty… and worried. But those weren’t unusual things for him to feel these days.

            He was moving as quietly about their apartment as he could manage whilst packing his suit and other essentials, music playing lightly in the background. Every few moments, he glanced towards Bucky’s closed door. But, no matter how often he looked, it remained the same.

            An obnoxious tune erupted from the phone in his pocket, resulting in a deep sigh. Grabbing it out instantly, he glanced at the screen to find a text message from Natasha that read, _ETA 5 minutes :)._

He was running out of time and was officially starting to panic.

_I'll find you in the morning sun, And when the night is new, I'll be looking at the moon, But I'll be seeing you._

  Finally hearing the song that was playing, he had an idea; albeit a somewhat poor idea. There was little chance that it would work but he was going to try… He had to. Moving over to the stereo, he turned the music up a few notches before finding himself right outside Bucky’s door, knocking softly.

            “Buck…?” he muttered, nervously.

            No response.

            He knocked again, a little harder this time, “Bucky?”

            Nothing.

  Breathing out slowly, he tried again, “Buck, th-they’re playing our song.”

  He was met with silence and his heart felt ready to burst in his chest. Jaw clenching, he swallowed with a nod, eyes stinging. Breathing in, he was able to say, “Alright. Buck, I’m heading out for a few days. I’ll be back. I promise. If you need anything, you have Clint’s and Tony’s number in your phone. Don’t hesitate to call them, okay? They’re friends.”

  Silence.

  “Okay. I’ll be back,” he promised again, waiting for a response despite knowing one was not coming. His shoulders fell and, grabbing his sack and shield, he stopped at the stereo to turn it off before heading out the door. Glancing once more at the closed door, he breathed heavily in, then out, steadying himself.

  He would be fine, he told himself, shutting the door softly. Bucky would be fine.


	7. Dream a Little Dream Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 4th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone that has read/commented/enjoyed this little story. I appreciate and love you all. Stay tuned for some extras to this story. I have a Winter Soldier chapter in the works that didn't quite work here. Thank you all again! 
> 
> Special thanks to my Lieutenant. You cry, I cry.

_July 4 th, 2016_

 

            The music was down to a dull roar now. Which Tony supposed was acceptable seeing as there were only a dozen or so of his closest friends left at the party. They were all scattered; some at the bar, some on the makeshift dance floor. Rhodey and Maria were making eyes at each other over in the corner. Which, he decided the instant he saw it, was where he needed to be. But, as he started making his way over to them, his plan was foiled by the woman in black.

            “Leave it, Stark.”

            “Aw, come on! Can’t a guy have some fun at the party he hosted out of the good of his heart for a dear friend’s birthday?”

            Natasha raised a brow in response.

            “Fine. Okay! I’ll leave them be,” Tony raised his hands, defensively, his glass of bourbon instantly remembered with a delighted, “Ooh.” Taking a sip and staring pointedly over Natasha’s shoulder to the two in question, he muttered, “For now…”

            “Let them have a minute to themselves, Tony,” Cap said, almost wistfully, watching the pair make their way to the dance floor as the song changed to a slower melody. Tony couldn’t help but stare a second too long at the expression he wore. It was too nostalgic for the level of sobriety he was at. And he was not sober. He took another swig to compensate.

            “Gotta love this song,” Sam said, joining their little group. He was obviously in a good place on the drunk meter. Tony respected that. “Classic.”

            “Speaking of a classic, where’s Elsa?” Tony said, tearing his eyes from the two lovebirds on the dance floor.

            Steve sighed, exasperated, “ _Bucky_ said he was gunna call it an early night.”

            Tony tried not to read into that, instead joking, “What? On your birthday? Boo. Well, too bad, really. Would have _loved_ to-”

            “Whoa, when did Rhodey and Maria become a thing?” Clint asked, handing Natasha a flute of champagne and taking a sip of his beer as he looked around the group for an answer.

            “Tonight, apparently,” Tony shrugged.

            “You’re not very observant, are you, Stark?”

            Tony refuses to admit that he spilled his drink for any other reason than intoxication. He was not startled by the former Soviet assassin sneaking up behind him. He had pride to think of.

            “Buck,” Steve said, his voice the usual breathlessly hopeful tone he got whenever he saw or spoke to Barnes. “I thought you were heading to bed.”

            Barnes grinned. He actually grinned. Not a scary, death threatening grin. It was a glimpse of the suave and charming Bucky Barnes that Tony had heard so much about. He didn’t think he had seen that first hand. If he had, he definitely would have remembered because damn. That grin was devastatingly effective.

            He was looking at Steve as though he were the only one in the room (on the planet, in the universe) that existed. In turn, Tony was pretty sure that Cap wasn’t breathing. His face had gone blank but for the painful hope in his eyes.

            “How can I sleep when they’re playing our song,” Barnes told him, shifting almost nervously from one foot to the other.

            Cap huffed out a breathy laugh, ducking his head sheepishly, “They are, aren’t they?”

            Barnes said nothing more. Apparently he didn’t have to. All he did was hold out his hand, which Steve took without hesitation, letting himself be led to the dance floor.

            Tony watched as Barnes wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him close. The blinding smile on Steve’s face was impossible not to see. It seemed that everyone left at the party was now fixated on one point in the room. And it was those two swaying to ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’.

            “So… That’s happening,” Tony felt obliged to say; everyone’s eyes stayed on them as they held each other close. They weren’t so much dancing as they were… embracing.

            “About time…” Natasha said through a half smirk just as Sam exclaimed, “Good for them.”

            “Wait, was this a thing before? Should I have been aware of this?” Tony demanded, unable to look away from Barnes and Cap rocking together on the now empty dance floor.

            “No.”

            He tried not to be offended that Sam, Clint and Natasha said that at the same time.

            Tony couldn’t help but be transfixed by the two. This was obviously over seventy years in the waiting. He didn’t know how he didn’t pick it up before. Those two… They fit.

            “There’s a story there. And I wanna know what it is.”

            “Let it go, Tony.”

            “For God’s sake, let them be.”

            He couldn’t argue with them on that. They needed this moment. Even he got that.

            Bruce was suddenly at his shoulder, letting out a small chuckle, “About time for those two, huh?”

            “You knew, too?!”

            Bruce leveled him with a sympathetic smile, “Oh, Tony.”

            Letting out a deep sigh, he went back to watching the overdue dance. Barnes was whispering in Steve’s ear, making the Cap laugh, “I’ll ask them later.”

            Clint sighed contentedly, hugging his beer to his chest, a dopey grin on his face. Sam hummed in agreement, saying, “You don’t even know that half of it.”

            Tony couldn’t help the smirk as he lifted his glass in a salute, “Get it, Cap.”

 

            “They’re all watching.”

            “Let them watch,” Bucky muttered, his breath tickling Steve’s neck.

            “Mmm,” Steve murmured in agreement, closing his eyes and hooking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder.

            His heart was clenched so tightly, it felt close to what an oncoming asthma attack that had once plagued him had felt like. But this… this was so very different. It was so light; _happy_. There weren’t many times in his ninety-eight years that he had experienced something this pure. But Bucky was here, in his arms. In a time that felt so wrong to him in every way, this one thing finally felt right. Now that he had him, he wouldn’t allow anything to take him away. Steve knew that if that happened again, there was no coming back from it.

            “I can hear you thinking,” Bucky chuckled, tightening his grip, “Just enjoy this. I am.”

            “Were you just lurking in a corner or…?” Steve stuttered out without thinking, “How did you-”

            Bucky grinned, making Steve raise his brow.

            “Bucky…”

            “Don’t get all sappy on me-”

            Steve’s eyes stung instantly, turning his head away so Bucky wouldn’t be able to see the tears now forming, “You requested the song.”

            “It’s your birthday, punk,” Bucky told him, as though this explained everything. Steve’s brow rose, making him roll his eyes, “A birthday dance was in order.”

            Steve let out a choked laugh at that, “God, I love you so much.”

            “Hey,” Bucky whispered, tilting his chin up with a finger, “Hey.”

            Finally obliging him, Steve looked into Bucky’s smiling eyes, “Till the end of the line, right?”

            Wiping his eyes in what he assumed was an inconspicuous swipe of his sleeve, Steve smiled so wide it began to hurt, “Yeah,” he agreed, “Till the end of the line, Buck.”

            Smiling even wider, Bucky leant in, his lips brushing against Steve’s, before whispering, “I love you, punk,” and pressing his lips against his with an urgency that wasn’t decent. Steve obliged greedily.

            “Get a room!” they barely heard Stark call.

            Pulling away, a mischievous glint shown in Bucky’s eyes almost immediately. Steve grinned at him knowingly.

            “We do have a room,” Bucky shrugged, nonchalantly.

            “We do,” Steve nodded in agreement, unable to break the grin on his face.

            After a beat, Bucky stepped away from him. Before Steve could miss the warmth too much, he held out his hand, “Shall we?”

            Steve knew that his face would eventually crack if he kept up this level of smile. But he couldn’t care less. Taking his hand, he let himself be led from the dance floor and to the elevator. He could only just hear what sounded like Clint letting out a, “Yeah! Get it!” before the elevator doors closed behind them.

            “Now,” Bucky said, his eyes not leaving Steve’s face, his lips, “Where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for sticking with me guys! Stay tuned for more.
> 
> Side note: Find more feels on my Tumblr... clueingforbucky.tumblr.com
> 
> Love you all and TILL THE END OF THE LINE <3


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